


Andromeda Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

by Catarina_Persephone



Series: Andromeda Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians
Genre: Crossover, Demigod Harry Potter, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Hogwarts First Year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4532451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catarina_Persephone/pseuds/Catarina_Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andromeda Potter had always been strange. With unnatural and magical things happening around her, talking to fishes and horses were as ordinary as having a glass of water. She had never imagined that she’ll ever have a family. As far as she knew, the horrible Dursleys were the only relations of hers alive. But on her eleventh birthday, she is met face to face with a new world full of magic that could change her whole life around. Will Andromeda survive the secrets and the destiny she is about to encounter at Hogwarts? Will she able to uncover the secrets of her biological father with a glowing bronze trident?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue; The-Girl-Who-Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All rights go to J.K Rowling, the amazing author of Harry Potter, and the entire magical world.  
> (And to Rick Riordan, the awesome author of Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Heroes of Olympus and the modern demigod world for future reference.)

**Poseidon, god of the Seas,** stared at the lifeless body of his mortal lover in distress. Lily Evans, pureblood witch with her vibrant red hair and emerald eyes was gone, dead, her limp body cold on the soft pale yellow carpet. He did love his immortal wife, Amphitrite, but also cared deeply and still loved Lily, who he will never see again. He sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair, his other hand clutched his bronze trident. He wanted to destroy something or somebody, or rather, kill this ‘Voldy Mort’ guy that killed his lover.

Just when he was about to go back to his kingdom, Atlantis, a small voice was heard behind him. “Daddy! Daddy!”

Poseidon stopped short. Did he really… his unfinished question was answered by a soft small clapping and a squeal. “Daddy! Daddy!”

He whirled around, and cautiously walked towards where the sound came from. The sound came from a white crib that sat near the very colourful wall, with a mobile hanging directly over the crib on the ceiling. It was a beautiful- the mobile ,not the ceiling- with hippocampus, dolphins, fishes, lions, a stag, a wolf and a shaggy black dog, with soft soothing music that chimed delicately.

A small giggle broke him out of his trance with the mobile. He blinked and looked down to meet a pair of sea green - his - eyes. He nearly jumped back. There was a baby girl, alive in this haunted house. He gulped and looked down again. The baby girl was beautiful, with lightly tanned skin – unnatural for a newborn baby- long black messy hair – exactly like his- small button nose, cute pouty rosy lips and … his sea green eyes.

“Daddy?” she asked tilting her head in wonder, her soft red lips pulled in a cute pout. “Daddy?” He instinctively, reached out to her as she giggled. Then, it hit him like a rock.

This was his - and Lily’s-daughter. His first demigod daughter. Immortal daughters ,he had before, but never a demigod. He knew Lily was pregnant, but simply assumed that the baby was the son of Mercury’s and had died along with Lily. Now, it didn’t matter that he had broken the vow on not siring demigods. He spun his baby girl round in joy, his face breaking into a huge grin.

But there was something else… He didn’t know his daughter’s name. He nearly face palmed at his idiocy. He had a DAUGHTER, and he didn’t even know her name!

As if reading his mind, his daughter rolled her eyes – something Lily did often and held her hand out, making a silky soft green-blue thing zoom towards her hand, which she caught it perfectly – also unnatural for a baby. She handed it to him with a big bright smile.Curiously, Poseidon flattened out the bunched up fabric and found out it was a blanket.

A soft silky shimmering sea-green blanket embroidered with mini tridents, hippocampus, Pegasus, dolphins, fishes … and on the bottom was a shining bronze lettering. _‘Andromeda Cordelia Potter’_

“Andromeda Cordelia Potter,” he murmured looking at the baby girl in his arms. “Daughter of Poseidon, legacy of Hecate and Athena.” He murmured, slightly distasteful at the name of his immortal enemy.

Then a loud thumps were heard, with the sound of a motorcycle engine. Poseidon knew that they were to take care of his little Pearl. There wasn’t much time. He reluctantly set his Pearl down back on her crib and fished out something from his pocket of his khaki shorts. It was a beautiful pearl pendant on a simple thins silver chain. The pearl was perfectly formed in a circle, and the surface of the pearl glimmered in the faint light of his trident.

“Bye my little Princess.” He murmured putting the chain around her neck, kissing her forehead.

She waved back, a sad smile on her face, like she knew that he had to go, and that they won’t meet for a while.” Bye Daddy…”

“Bye my Pearl, and May the gods be with you.” He murmured, his lips twitching at the irony of him being a god himself. ’Or maybe not. Most of them will try to kill you but …’

“Remember, the Sea cannot be restrained…” He murmured once more, before disappearing, the soft scent of the sea breeze, the only trace of him being there.

Andromeda Potter smiled sadly, her small hands going automatically to her pearl. “Bye daddy….’ She murmured, before closing her bright sea green eyes, yawning tiredly as a giant picked her up from her crib.

-The Girl Who Lived-

It was midnight, when the man appeared, so silently and suddenly, as if he had popped up from the ground.

The man clearly was different from any man seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin and very, very old, by the sight of the silver and grey of his hair and beard, which as long enough that made it impossible to figure out where the hair ended and where the beard was. He wore strange lilac robe with silver stars, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high heeled, buckled leather boots. His blue eyes were unnaturally bright and twinkling behind the half moon spectacles perched on his long crooked nose, that looked as if it had been broken at least twice before.

His name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore was rummaging through his cloak, looking for something when he suddenly seemed to realize that he was not alone and that he was being watched.

He looked up and his blue eyes focused on a cat that was staring at him from the other end of the street. He chuckled and muttered, looking amused by the sight of the cat. “I should have known.”

After a minute of rummaging, he found what he was looking for in the inside pocket of his cloak. The object seemed to be a silver cigarette light. He flicked it open, held it in the air, and clicked it. The nearest lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. The clicked the Put-Outer twelve times, until the only lights left on the street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window, not even the beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley would be able to see anything.

Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at the cat, but after a moment he spoke to it.

“Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I’ve never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars.... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name; Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.

"I know you haven’t, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring.”But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too- well - noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had. She fixed Dumbledore with a piercing stare. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are -- are -- that they're -- dead. "

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's daughter, Andromeda. But -- he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Andromeda Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone.

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's -- it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did little Andromeda survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Andromeda to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family her has left now."

"You don't mean -- you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Andromeda Cordelia Potter cannot come and live here!"

"It's the best place for her," said Dumbledore firmly. "Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as the Andromeda Potter day in the future -- there will be books written about Andromeda -- every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any girl’s head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can’t you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes- yes, you're right, of course. But how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding young Andromeda underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing her."

"You think it -wise- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to -- what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a head light; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky -- and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sit," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, sir."

"No problems, were there?"    

"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She was asleep when I got there.”

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under her shoulder length jet-black hair, they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning on her forehead.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "She'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well -- give her here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I -- could I say good-bye to her, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent hisgreat, shaggy head over Andromeda and gave her what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Lily an' James dead -- an' poor little Andy off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Andromeda gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside her blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her.

Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Andromeda," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Andromeda rolled over inside her blankets. One small and chubby fist closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing that she was a result of a broken vow, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that she would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by her cousin Dudley... She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Andromeda Potter -- the girl who lived!"

Andromeda opened one bright sea green eye and blinked- her eyes full of wisdom and understanding- and winked at the moon gleaming in the sky above her.

“The Sea cannot be restrained…” A faint but warm fathery voice washed over four Privet Drive, with a wisp of cool sea breeze.

‘May the Gods be with you… my little Pearl…. May the gods be with you…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Story is also posted on fanfiction.net under my user name- Catarina Persephone. The same as my username here without the underdash/underscore. Just to let you know that I update there more often and that I didn't copy and paste from someone else's work.


	2. Talking Snakes and Vanishing Glass

Ten Years later:

 **I, Andromeda Potter** woke up to my horrible giraffe of an Aunt rapping on the door, her shrill voice the first noise of the peaceful day.

“Up! Get up! Now!”

I woke up with a start. My aunt rapped on the door again, making me dizzy with all the banging and rapping.

“Up!” she screeched. I heard her walk towards the kitchen and the sound of frying pan being put out on to the stove. I rolled on my back and tried to remember the wonderful dream I had been having. It was amazing and _magical_.

It was about a man with wavy black hair and grey eyes, on a flying motor cycle. It was a dream I had before, on lucky days when I retreated back to my pathetic excuse of a bed only with small bruises.

Then it changed to a castle or a kingdom more like, under the sea, with fishes and dolphins swimming around freely.

There was also a man, with black messy hair, bright sea-green eyes - so much like my own, a small beard, and had a bronze trident. It was strange to see a merman with a trident in a sea kingdom, but somehow, I felt safe and content with the man. Like the kind of safety that fathers give to their daughters. I longed for that feeling again. I never had a father or a mother. Just my horrible aunt and  uncle and their ugly son Dudley.

My aunt was back outside the door again.

“Are you up yet? “She demanded.

“Nearly,” said I said yawning tiredly.

“Well. Get a move on, I want you to look after the bacons. And don’t you _dare_ let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy’s birthday.”

I groaned.

“What did you say?” My Aunt snapped through the door.

“Nothing… nothing…”

Dudley’s birthday- how could I have _forgotten_? I got slowly out of bed and started to crawl under, where I kept my clothes. I found a pair of black leggings and a lacy green top, and pulled a small spider off them. I was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where I slept. But that didn’t mean I liked them. Actually, I hated them. They were hairy and just _yuck._

I was thankful for the clothes that Aunt Petunia had gotten me from second-hand shops. Aunt Petunia has said “Proper Ladies must wear proper clothes”. If I had been a boy, I would have had to wear Dudley’s old things. And obviously, I wouldn’t have liked it.

When I was dressed, I went down the hall into the kitchen.

The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley’s birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to me, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise-unless of course it involved punching somebody. I was Dudley’s favourite punching bag but Dudley was too slow for me. I didn’t really look it, but I was very fast. Or, it had something to do with my ADHD.

Maybe it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but I had always been small and skinny for my age. But even my size couldn’t hide my natural beauty.

I had a heart shaped face, long black wavy hair, flawless pale skin and big bright sea-green/emerald eyes, which was my favourite feature. On my forehead, was a thin scar that was shaped like a lightning bolt. I didn’t really like the shape, as if I was … it just gave me a really bad feeling. I had it as long as I could remember, and the first question I could remember asking my Aunt Petunia how I had gotten it.

“In a car crash when your parents died,” she had said. ”And don’t’ like questions.”

 _Don’t ask questions_ \- that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. It was sometimes hard really with my ADHD, but I learnt to keep my mouth shut.

But I had a good gut feeling that my parent’s death wasn’t by a car crash.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as I was turning over the bacon on the pan.

“Comb you hair!” he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

“I already did…” I muttered. I had gotten a small plastic comb from Aunt Petunia for my 8th birthday. Aunt Petunia sometimes gave me presents. Like a small hair comb, pins, hair ties or when she was particularly happy with gossips that day, clothes.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that I needed a haircut. But it made no difference. My hair simply grew that way- long and wavy, naturally sea windswept, just the way I liked it.

I was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much of a neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that laid smoothly on his thick, fat head. The best way to describe him? A fat pig in a blonde wig.

I put the plate of eggs and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell, almost comically.

“Thirty six” he said, looking up at his mother and father. ”That’s two less than last year.”

“Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present. See, it’s under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.”

“All right, thirty seven then,” said Dudley, going red in the face.

I could sense a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, and began wolfing down my breakfast like it was the last meal I was going to have, in case Dudley decided to flip the table.

Aunt Petunia sensed danger too, because she said quickly, “We’ll buy you another _two_ presents while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?”

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work because he hardly ever used his brain. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty… thirty…”

“Thirty Nine.” I said, smirking at Dudley's idiocy. 

Aunt Petunia shot me a dirty look. “Thirtynine sweetums.”

I nearly snorted at that. Sweetums? Really?

“Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.”

Uncle Vernon chuckled, even though there was nothing funny.

“Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. ‘Atta boy, Dudley! “He ruffled Dudley’s hair.

At that moment the phone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Uncle Vernon and I watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a laptop. He was ripping the paper off a gold wrist watch when Aunt Petunia came back looking both angry and worried.

“Bad new Vernon,” she said. “Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take _her.”_ She jerked her head in my direction

Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror, but I was quite glad. Every year on Dudley’s birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for that day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or to the movies. Every year, I was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets ahead. I hated it there, the house smelled of rotten old cabbages and Mrs. Figg made me look at all the photos of the cats she owned.

“Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at me as if I had planned this. Why would I? And if I did, I would have planned something more…. beneficial.

I knew I ought to feel sorry of Mrs. Figg for breaking her leg but, it wasn’t easy as my brain kept supplying that I wouldn’t have to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws and Tufty again until next year.

“We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested and I gave a shudder of horror and disgust. She hated me, and the feeling was mutual, as she would always badmouth my parents as if she knew them personally. But I was convinced that my parents were smart enough not to make friends with people like Uncle Vernon and his sister Marge.

“Don’t be silly, she hate the girl.” I sighed in relief.

The Dursleys often spoke about me as if I wasn’t there- or rather, as though I was something very nasty that wouldn’t go away. But it wasn’t my fault that my mouth kept saying sarcastic and witty remarks. I was just _born_ that way.

“What about what’s-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?”

“On vacation in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia.

“You could just leave me here, you know,” I said as I twirled a lock of dark hair between my fingers, bored of the conversation already.

I would have rather stayed here than somewhere else, as I would have been able to go swimming in the lake I had found in the woods, and read the thick Greek Mythology books I had gotten from the library to the fishes in the lake (I somehow was able to talk to fishes and sea animals) on the sunny and grassy area where the lake was, without Aunt Petunia breathing down my neck.

Aunt Petunia looked as if she had just swallowed a lemon.

“And come back and find the house in the ruins?” She snarled.

I scoffed.” I won’t blow up the house,” But of course, nobody was listening.

“I suppose we could take her to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly as if she said it fast, something would blow up. Something that started with a ‘Dud’ and finished with a ‘ley’ “…and leave her in the car….”

“The car’s new, she’s not sitting in it alone….”

Dudley began to cry loudly. I had to block my ears because his wailing was so loud. In fact, he wasn’t really crying – it had been years since he’d really cried – but he knew if he screwed up his ugly face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

“Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mummy won’t let _her_ spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him .I rolled my eyes at the display in front of me, though it was quite funny. A thin giraffe necked women, hugging a short fat boy, who was wailing like a baby. It was quite a site to watch.

“I … don’t…want…her…t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. “She always spoils everything!” He shot me a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms.

I muttered under my breath “I don’t want to be anywhere _near_ you.”

Just then – when it was becoming to be quite entertaining- the doorbell rang-“Oh, good Lords, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically- and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind them while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped crying at once and shot me a nasty look. I sighed. It was going to be a long day.

-Talking snakes and vanishing glass-

Half an hour later, I was sitting at the back of the Dudley’s car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with me, but before they left, Uncle Vernon pulled me aside.

“I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large unnatural purple face right close to mine. “I’m warning you Girl, any funny business, any funny business at all, and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.”

“I’m not going to do anything,” I said “well at least I wouldn’t try to …”

But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe me. Nobody did.

The problem was, that strange things often happened around me.  I was always at the wrong place at wrong time. And it was no good telling the Dursleys that I didn’t make them happen. Nobody ever believed me.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of me coming back from the barbers as if I hadn’t been there at all, had took a pair of kitchen scissors and cut off my hair short ,up to the middle of my head and almost bald except for a few strands of hair for a bang, to ‘hide that hideous scar’. I had willed myself for my hair to grow back, long, down to my waist, sea wind swept and wavy. Next morning, my hair had grown back, just the way I wanted and liked, just like before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. I was stuck in the cupboard for a week, even though I tried to explain that I didn’t know how my hair grow back so fast. I tried to explain that I had nothing to do with it as it was so unnatural. But of course, that didn’t help.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force me into a revolting old sweater of Aunt Marge’s (Brown with bright pink and orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over my head, the smaller it seemed to become, until it was only large enough to fit a hand puppet, but of course it wouldn’t fit me, thank the _gods_. Aunt Petunia had decided it had shrunk in the wash and thankfully, I didn’t get any punishments.

Once, I gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley’s gang had been chasing me as usual when, I don’t know how I got there, and I was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from the Headmistress telling that _I_ had been climbing school buildings. I tried and tried – even yelled at Uncle Vernon through the key hole in the cupboard – to explain that all I tried to do was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. I supposed the wind must have caught me or something.

And there was different things appearing that I was sure that I didn’t do anything about. Like the one eyed man – I was sure that it had one eye and late identified as a Cyclops or sorts - that followed me around the playground. I tried to tell my kindergarten teacher, but she said it must have been the trick of the light or something. Definitely _something._

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. Hopefully. It was nice to be not in my cupboard or Mrs. Figg’s cabbage smelling living room. Even if I was with Dudley and Piers.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He loved to complain about things. People at work, me, the council, me, the bank, me were just a few of his favourite subjects. Of course, I felt _really_ special to be talked about all the time.

This morning, was about motorcycles.

“… Roaring along like a maniacs, the young hoodlums,” he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

“I had a dream about a motorcycle,” I said, remembering about the pleasant dream about the flying motorcycle with the grey eyed man. ”It was flying.”

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and started yelling at me, his face like a giant purple beet with a moustache.

“MOTORCYCLES DON’T FLY!”

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

“Of course they don’t. That why it’s called a dream.” I said in a DUH voice, rolling my eyes.

I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. If there was one thing the Dusleys hated more than me asking questions, was talking about strange, unnatural and _magical_ things, whether in a dream or even a random cartoon- they seemed to think that I was getting dangerous ideas. Not that I was out of any.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers each a large chocolate ice cream at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady from the ice cream van had asked me what I wanted before they could hurry me away, they got me a blue salty ice block. The Dursleys had shot me a nasty look but as i licked it, watching a gorilla scratching its head- who looked remarkably alike to Dudley, except that the gorilla wasn’t blond that the the ice cream was worth it. 

I had the best morning in a long time- the last time being the morning I had found the new lake in the woods. I was careful to walk a little bit apart from Dudley and Piers in case they grew bored and tried to hit me. 

We had a lovely lunch at the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his desert didn’t have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and I was allowed to finishes the first, which still practically untouched.

I knew my luck wasn’t going to last very long.

After Lunch, we went to the Reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of stone and wood. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around uncle Vernon‘s car and crushed it into a trash can-but at the moment it didn’t look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

“Make it move,” he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn’t budge.

“Do it again,” Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass loudly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed off.

“This is boring,” Dudley moaned. He shuffled away with Uncle Vernon and Piers.

I moved in front of the glass and examined the snake. It looked like torture in there, with stupid people drumming fingers on the glass to disturb the poor snake all day long. It looked worse than being stuck in the cupboard under the stairs.

The snake suddenly opened its beady looking eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its yellow eyes were on a level with my own sea green ones

_It winked._

I stared at the snake and looked around to see if anyone else was looking. Nobody was. I turned back to the snake and winked back, a smile on my face.

The snake, who I named Boara, as he was a Boa Constrictor, jerked its head to where Uncle Vernon and Dudley was ogling over some other snake and raised its eyes towards the ceiling. It gave me a look that said:

_“I get that all the time.”_

“I know” I murmured to Boara through the glass, not caring if I looked insane talking to a snake. “It must be really annoying.”

The snake nodded its head – something I didn’t know snakes could- vigorously, as if glad that _someone_ was able to understand the feeling of being trapped.

“Where do you come from anyway?” I asked curiously.

Boara jabbed his tail at a little sign next to the glass. I peered at it.

_Boa Constrictor, Brazil._

“Was it nice there?” Boara jabbed his tail again at the sign again and I read on:

_This specimen was breed in the zoo._

“Oh, I see…You’ve never been to Brazil.”

As the snake shook its head, a loud and deafening shout behind me made both of us jump.

“DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT’S DOING!”

Dudely came waddling towards us as fast as he could, which wasn’t really fast as he was really slow and fat.

“Out of the way, _girl_.” He said, like _girl_ was the best insult he could think of and punching me in the ribs. Correction: _tried_ to punch me in the ribs, but failed as I had superfast reflexes and jumped back in time and tripping him with my foot.

What happened next was so fast, I almost missed it- one second, Piers and Dudley was pressed up against the glass, the next, they fell in with shrieks of horror.

I gaped at the site. Strange things happened to me, but this was new. The glass in front of the tank had vanished. Vanished, gone into thin air, no sign of any glass at all, like it wasn’t there in the first place.

Boara uncoiled himself rapidly and slithered out of the tank onto the floor. People in the reptile house began screaming and started running for the exits which was a stupid idea since the snake itself was going towards the exit.

As Boara slid swiftly past me, I heard a low hissing voice from him.” Brazil, here I come… Thanksss, amigo.” As shocked I was, I smiled and blew him a kiss, with Boara giving me a hissy kiss back.

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

“But the glass,” he kept saying, as if in a trance, “Where did the glass go?”

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber and stutter like a couple of idiots. As far as I saw, Boara didn’t do anything expect snap playfully at their heels as he passed, But Dudley was telling that the snake tried to bite his foot off, and Piers said it tried to squeezed him to death.

The worst part?

When Piers calmed down enough, he said, “Andromeda was talking to it, weren’t you Andy?” I groaned, I knew I was going to be stuck in that cupboard for ages.

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on me. He was so angry, he could barely speak. He only managed to say, “Go- cupboard - stay - no meals.” before collapsing into a chair, Aunt Petunia running to get him a large brandy. I suppose what Uncle Vernon was trying to say was, “Go to the Cupboard and stay there. No meals.” But that was all I thought, before I was practically thrown into the dark cupboard.

-Talking snakes and vanishing glass-

Several hours later I lay on my dark cupboard, wishing I had a clock. I didn’t know what time it was and I couldn’t be sure if the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, I couldn’t risk sneaking into the kitchen for some food.

I lived with the Durlseys for almost ten years, ten horrible years, as long as I could remember, ever since I was a baby and when my parents died- defiantly _not_ by a car crash. I knew _that_. I couldn’t remember being in the car, when, apparently my parents died. Sometimes, when I concentrated, I came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of vibrant green light and a burning pain on my forehead, a faint face of the man with sea green eyes, smiling gently at me as he put a pearl pendent on a thin silver chain around my neck. The pain on my forehead, I supposed was the crash, or whatever killed my parents, though, I couldn’t imagine what the green light or the man with the sea green eyes came from.

I couldn’t remember my parents, not really, I just knew that my dad’s name was James Potter or Prongs, had black messy hair and hazel eyes, and my mum was Lily Potter nee Evans, with red hair and green eyes. I was sure that the grey eyed man with the flying motor cycle was who I remembered as Uncle Paddy, because at that time - I was like… _one_ \- I couldn’t say Padfoot properly. There was another man, with bright amber-gold eyes and dirty blond-brown hair, who, if I recalled properly, was uncle Moony. That was all I remembered of my parents. Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Lily.

When I was younger, I used to dream and dream of some unknown relation coming to take me away from the horrible Dursleys, but of course, that never happened.

But sometimes, very strange strangers seemed to know me. A tiny man with a violet top hat and cloak, bowed to me, once, when I was out shopping with Aunt Petunia. After asking furiously if I knew that man, Aunt Petunia whisked me away without buying the eggs that we desperately needed. Dudley had eaten all of them for breakfast.

A wild looking old women dressed in all green, cloak, hat, robes and all, had waved at me merrily once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken my hand and walked away without a word.

And let’s not forget the one eyed stalker. The tall man in a black trench coat and matching hat stalked me in the playground of the kindergarten. He followed me around everywhere- the monkey bars, the slide, the swings…until the teacher threatened to call the police if he didn’t leave. I distinctively remembered him having only one eye, but of course no one believed me.

The weirdest thing about all those people was the way they seemed to vanish the second I tried to get a closer look.

I sighed, and tugged at the little pearl, the familiar touch comforting me. I had kept it a secret from Aunt Petunia. If she knew, she would have sold it or took it away for herself. It _was_ pretty.

I sighed and closed my eyes, praying to every Greek gods and goddesses I knew, that something or someone would get me out of this hell hole.


End file.
